


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by zgory



Series: Sunshine of a Friendly Gaze [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Elves, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zgory/pseuds/zgory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom works in Santa's village as a mall elf. Chris is a Footlocker employee who pities him. What starts out as a rocky first meeting becomes a comfortable friendship and possibly more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hurricanewinds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanewinds/gifts).



> Created in response to a post on tumblr. I basically dropped the other things I was tinkering with and wrote this instead.

“Aren’t you a little tall to be an elf?”

Tom plasters on the smile he puts on for the more “precious” children and whips his head in the direction of the voice that asked the question. It’s a guy around the same age as him sporting the trademark striped uniform of a Footlocker employee. Except what’s usually an ill-fitting, baggy shirt on others is well-fitted to the guy’s built form (the sight nearly makes him want to fling off his green vest and traditionally peppermint striped tights in indignation).

“Don’t you have some overpriced commission for a ludicrously colored pair of sneakers to be chasing?” bites back Tom a bit sharper tone than intended. The holidays are a trying time of the year.

The other guy’s dirty blond eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline as he unfolds his thick arms to raise his hands in a calming manner. “Whoa, sorry there. Didn’t mean to jingle your bells,” he says apologetically while his mouth tilts into a little half-smile that Tom supposes he’s supposed to take as a gesture of “everything’s all good now.”

If anything, it only serves to irk him even further, and he straightens up from the beige wall he had been leaning against for the duration of his absurdly short lunch break. Taking a deep breath, he avoids the voice of reason in the back of his head, marches his way closer to the shoe salesman (and does not jingle, thank you very much) and grudgingly notes how the other guy is a bit taller than him (by only a little so it shouldn’t really matter, and Tom still has his pointy cap on which gives him a slight advantage, yet it does).

“Well you did so happen to rustle my wreath so please excuse me as I go back to spreading holiday cheer to those not dressed as reject referees,” states Tom in the falsely cordial voice he has taken to adapting more often than not considering the general age of his customers. He then exhales before giving the guy a curt nod of the head and turning on his heel to make it back to Santa’s village.

Before he’s out of earshot, he hears the other guy mutter, “Poor bastard,” but chooses to ignore it. With any luck, he’ll never run into that guy again.

* * *

“I really am sorry if I offended you last time,” says an oddly familiar voice.

Tom looks up from the stale 7-11 doughnut he had grabbed off the counter that morning in his rush to get out the door. Looking down at him with appropriately icy blue eyes is the Footlocker employee who is now sporting a puffy jacket from which the recognizable striped shirt peeks through the gap where it is unzipped.

For a second, Tom wants to play it coy so as to have the other man highlight what exactly he had said wrong in their last encounter. The idea dissipates quickly though, and he just sighs. “Your question probably didn’t warrant as much of the venom I slew back.”

The other guy shakes his quickly. “No, I get it. Long day dealing with swarms of overly excited kids and their parents. You finally get a moment of sanity just to have some guy rib you about your job.”  Done with his assessment, the sneakers salesman shoves his large hands in his pockets and withdraws his lips into his mouth.  The sight is rather endearing on such a big guy, but Tom simply shrugs his shoulders before taking a bite out of his bland dessert.

“It’s not the first time someone’s taken the piss,” comments Tom as he chews around his food in the hopes of having it taste better.

The other guy shrugs his shoulders in return. “Still feel bad about it,” he mutters in a low rumbling voice that somehow manages to make Tom’s toes curl inside of his already curled shoes. Then he seems to be digging around in the pockets of his insulated coat before holding out a sandwich bag containing some decorative holiday cookies.

“What’s this?” asks Tom with a raised brow as he inspects the offered treats. Smiling Santas and Frostys peer at him alongside festive trees, ornaments and snowflakes. The inside of the bag is slightly fogged, indicating their freshness. His mouth involuntarily waters at the sight.

The bag shakes as the fellow mall employee leans in closer. “You know. ‘Tis the season for giving and all that. And from the looks of it, that doughnut’s not exactly brightening your day.”

Tom can’t argue this last point, so despite the fact that he has only known this man in passing for two days (much less does he even have a name), he takes the bag. Picking out a snowflake-shaped cookie, he bites into it carefully only to smile broadly as the sugar cookie makes contact with his taste buds. He promptly nibbles on the rest of it and thanks the other man through a full mouth.

This time it’s Footlocker’s turn to nod his head before checking his watch, saying a hurried farewell and leaving. Tom’s content with the fact that running into the other man won’t be as awkward as before. In fact, it will be quite excellent as long as he keep bringing such delicious cookies.

* * *

“So how exactly does one become one of Santa’s Little Helpers?”

Tom swallows the swig of water he had just taken and wipes his mouth. “What’s with the curiosity about my employment? Are you looking for a change of pace? I’d be more than happy to trade places with you.”

Chris (as Tom has learned from their multiple shared lunch breaks together) shakes his head emphatically which causes his loose bun to swing from side to side. “No thanks mate. Don’t think I can pull off those tights as good as you,” he says while gesturing at Tom’s long legs which stretch out from beneath his coat.

“Oh, come on,” eggs Tom in a complimentary tone. “You pull off stripes good enough if I do say so myself.”

Chris’ cheeks flush, and he purposefully takes a bite out of his chicken salad sandwich. After swallowing, he says, “Come on. I’m just really curious is all what with you being so ‘vertically gifted’ and beyond what I thought the requirements for a mall elf would ask for.”

“And thus continues the fascination with my height,” continues Tom teasingly as he wags a finger at Chris. “But to answer your question, I guess I owe a lot to Buddy the elf.” His eyes roll slowly at the name and settle on to Chris’ only to be met by confusion.

“Who?”

Tom’s eyebrows quirk together, and he tilts his head at Chris. “You know. Six foot something, curly headed Will Ferrell as a human who was raised as a Christmas elf?”

Chris merely shakes his head slowly. “I’m afraid I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Have you never really seen _Elf_? I took it as some sort of modern holiday classic due to the amount of times it gets replayed over at Radioshack.”

“Can’t say I have. Sounds like something a bit more mature than my nieces would watch. And as for me, I’ll stick to _A Christmas Story_ ,” replies Chris.

“What about that summary sounded inappropriate for children?”

“The fact that Will Ferrell’s a man-child in nearly every one of his films, and that’s not the sort of behavior I will be having my angelic nieces imitate,” states Chris in a matter-of-fact tone.

The image of Chris looking after little golden-haired children flits through Tom’s head. It’s a rather endearing image that actually isn’t as farfetched as Chris’ size would have one believe.

“It may be the one film where such developmentally arrested behavior is actually appropriate,” says Tom as an afterthought. “Though now that I think about it, he may be hamming it up a bit more than what’s needed.”

Chris nods along in agreement though he has no basis for Tom’s assessment. Tom appreciates it nonetheless. “Well if it makes you feel better, I don’t think you fit the role of a screaming man-child.”

“Thanks,” replies Tom dryly as he fiddles with the buttons on his threadbare coat. “But to those who know me, I have been described as bit of an overgrown child.”

Rather than laughing at him, as he expected, Chris slides his mouth to one side of his face and hunches his shoulders together. “Well there’s holding on to childlike wonder, imagination, and fearlessness, and then there’s running around like a bloody idiot who throws screaming tantrums at the drop of a hat.” One of Chris’ hands clasp Tom on the shoulder, and the Brit almost feels the warmth of those thick fingers seeping through the shoulder. “And you’re definitely not the latter,” finishes Chris.

Now it’s Tom’s turn to flush (which he will attribute to the cold). He quickly rolls his shoulders (which dislodges the hand) and cranes his head from shoulder to shoulder, satisfied at the crack he hears. Glancing down at his watch, his eyes widen at the time, and he leaps up.

“Oh, Christ! I’ve got to get back now!”

Chris leaps to his feet as well and fishes out the little Ziploc of homemade cookies. Ever since their second meeting, Chris had seen to it to give Tom the seasonal treats. The mall elf tried politely refusing, but the shoe salesman had been insistent to the point of stuffing them into Tom’s puffed out green shorts. Resistance after then had basically been non-existent as Tom did find the cookies to be a delightful treat. They also happen to add to the sparse contents of his stomach.

“Don’t forget your cookies,” he reminds in what might be a light tone but comes out as rather earnest.

“Of course not,” says Tom as he takes them and places them in his own pocket. He smiles brightly at Chris. “These really get me through the day.”

“Gl-glad to hear,” comments Chris with a smile.

Then Tom is off to assist Santa in the spreading of holiday cheer having been given some from his unexpected acquaintance turned friend.

* * *

 

“You know you’ve got some really poor eating habits for such a svelte guy,” comments Chris through his ham sandwich.

Tom slows his chewing of the stale powdered doughnuts he had found nestled in the back of the cabinet that morning to half-heartedly glare at Chris. “Excuse me that not everyone can still have their lunches lovingly packed for them by mum, but some of us have to make due, and I am not subjecting myself to the food court.” He finishes swallowing with the help of some water. “And I’ll have you know that I have something of an uncontrollable sweet tooth so this suits me just fine.”

Chris finally gulps and blinks a few times in rapid succession before finally responding. “First of all, it’s my sister-in-law and not my mum,” he states with a slight smirk. “Secondly, I was just making an observation.”

“You’re very fond of those,” teases Tom as he reaches for another doughnut. His fingers only run into clumps of powder, and he glances down with a frown to see that the small box is indeed empty. With an internal pout, he crumples the box as best he can and tosses it towards the nearby trash receptacle. It doesn’t go into the small hole but lands on the surface which irritates him more than if he had missed completely. Before he can get up to throw it away properly though, Chris rises from their shared bench and properly disposes of the box.

“Oh, thank you,” says Tom in a dazed voice. Once again, going completely against the first impression set by their first meeting, Chris has proven to be a very nice bloke.

Chris simply shrugs before holding out the second half of his untouched sandwich.

Tom looks between the sandwich and Chris several times in confusion. “What’s this now?”

“It’s a bar of soap,” answers Chris sarcastically. “What else do you think it is? I’m just offering you the rest of my sandwich, mate.”

Tom’s eyebrows furrow together at the display. The cookies were one thing but this…He wants to deny the gesture, but a slight ache in his stomach reminding him that breakfast crackers don’t make an adequate breakfast tell him otherwise. Still…

“Are you sure?”

Chris gives him that little lopsided smile of his which has a different effect on Tom not unlike the sensation in his stomach. “It’s no problem. My nieces are always sneaking extra goodies into my lunch, so I’m good.”

With that, Tom takes the cellophane wrapped sandwich and unravels it to get to the food within. Taking a bite out of what he thought was going to be a simple ham and cheese sandwich, he barely suppresses the moan of pleasure as unexpected flavors hit his tongue. He rolls his eyes upward and tries not to devour the rest of the sandwich right then and there. “Mmmmm! What is this?”

Chris’ smile is absolutely smug now. “It’s good, right? Luke’s wife’s a chef. She likes experimenting with new things for her favorite people.”

Tom can only nod in agreement to this as he makes quick work of the rest of the sandwich. “You do know this means that I’m going to be swiping your lunch everyday like some playground bully just to get a taste of whatever delicious morsel you’ve brought.”

“Or I could just divvy it up with you and avoid such a mess,” suggests Chris with a smile.

“Or…that too,” replies Tom slowly and also returns the smile. This friend has definitely brought him some practical benefits. Though he wouldn’t mind for the other kind either.

His smile falters a fraction as his conscious mind catches up to that thought. Where did that come from?

* * *

 

“So what are your holiday plans?”

Tom mentally sighs at the question though he had been expecting to hear it eventually. It was one of those standard small talk questions they had somehow never broached. He fiddles with his little striped cap before answering. “Probably curled up on the couch with a warm bowl of noodles, while watching _It’s A Wonderful Life_ or whatever other holiday classic happens to be playing on basic television.”

Chris frowns at the answer. “No family over here?”

“Afraid not,” answers Tom as he externalizes the sigh. “And I’m afraid I don’t have quite enough for a plane ticket home either.”

“What about your roommate?”

This question prompts a fond smile to settle over Tom’s face as he thinks of Ken. Eccentric Ken with his active social life and busy work schedule who only took on a roommate for the company as he could actually afford the rent on his own. Of course, Tom had insisted on paying some part of the rent and on buying his own groceries. The latter demand had of course come to bite him in the butt but overall he was quite content with his living situation.

“He’ll be spending it with his various friend circles before ultimately visiting his children for the duration of the holiday,” answers Tom distantly as he starts to imagine himself falling asleep in front of some new animated short trying to become a classic. “What about you?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders in that slight way that Tom has become accustomed to. Considering that he’s wearing that faux referee shirt, it takes on another level of amusing.

“Spending it with my landlord and his beautiful family,” replies Chris.

“You mean your brother,” inserts Tom quickly.

Chris smiles at him cheerily and flicks at the little bell positioned at the top of Tom’s pointed cap causing it to ‘jingle’ ever so lightly. “Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention!”

Tom tugs his cap away while blowing air out of his mouth that causes his lips to vibrate. “Psssh. I would not be a Gryffindor.”

Chris’ head tilts to the side as he leans back on their shared bench. His eyes narrow as if scrutinizing him, and Tom resists the urge to fidget and instead aims a winning smile full of teeth back at him. “You’re right,” says Chris as he rubs his chin that has inklings of golden fuzz sprouting up. He straightens up and light heartedly pats Tom on his candy striped thigh. “Definitely a Hufflepuff.”

Tom doesn’t give him the satisfaction of ruffling and instead sidles closer, eliminating whatever semblance of space had been between them. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s the leftovers house!” argues Chris.

“Spoken with true Gryffindor bravado,” muses Tom with a shake of his head.

Blue eyes roll at him as Chris chuckles good naturedly. “Whatever,” he says, and it’s as his hand reflexively squeezes they both realize that Chris’ hand is still firmly placed on Tom’s leg. It quickly slides off before either can acknowledge it with a glance, and Chris clears his throat suddenly.

“So yeah, we’ll probably just go to Mass out of habit and then come back to enjoy a nice luncheon before the nieces get to tear through their presents. Then we’ll Skype my parents and my little brother to wish ‘em a good day as well.”

Tom nods along with this, making a mental note to do the same with his mom and sisters. He keeps in pretty regular contact with his mom, but this mall gig has limited his sparse hours of contact with her even more, so it would come as a wonderful gift to have him check up on her. Then his stomach-controlled mind latches on to one particular detail.

“When you say ‘luncheon’ do you mean that—"

Chris holds up a finger. “Sorry, but Luke handles the holidays so as to give Sam an extra day off. He still cooks a mean turkey though.”

“Pity,” comments Tom even though his stomach nearly rumbles at the thought of being fed a proper holiday meal rather than the noodles he’ll be scarfing down.

“But she is making some appetizers and a side dish which I usually stuff myself with,” continues Chris as he looks off to a point beyond Tom’s head. The dazed look in his eyes make it seem as if he is already picturing the scrumptious meal which only serves to actually make Tom’s stomach growl in preemptive jealousy.

Tom frowns at the sensation and places his cap back on top of his unruly head of curls. He straightens out his vest, tugs down his own striped shirt and swipes off the imagined wrinkles in his puffy, green shorts. With a sigh, he arises from the bench and stretches out his long limbs with his arms clasped above his head. “Well make sure to send me a picture. Perhaps I can fill my stomach through osmosis.”

Chris, who had snapped out of his daze, watches him with a twinkle of something in his eye. Then an uncharacteristically unsure smile splays across his face. “You know…you’re always welcome to come over and indulge…with us that is.”

Tom’s eyes widen, and he nearly sits back down from surprise. He rocks back and forth on his feet instead. “Th-that is very gen—” He stops himself to anxiously bite his bottom lip. The offer is tempting but…“I-I don’t want to impo—” Then again…He scratches behind an ear and stops rocking. “Are you sure?”

Chris’ smile widens into something steadier. “It’s fine! Despite Luke’s intentions Sam always manages to make more than enough, and it’s not like the girls eat like Tasmanian Devils.” The Aussie claps his hands on his thighs and rises as well. “I just don’t want you spending the holiday alone, you know?” An arm sliding across his shoulder to give him a companionable squeeze accompanies the sentiment (moments like these really boost Tom’s spirits as it really isn’t everyday that someone can easily sling an arm around his shoulders).

Tom looks at Chris, who smiles so surely at him, and feels a warmth from within that can’t be attributed to the mall heating. He thinks about the lazy day he had “planned” and how it would most assuredly dissolve into him passing out on the couch with Ken bursting through the door in a joyous mood the next morning to wake him up. Spending the day with a familiar, friendly face (even if it was a friend he had made for about a few weeks) would do him a world of good as he really wasn’t fond of the idea of being alone. And having ravenously consumed all of Samantha Hemsworth’s creations only convinced him further that his stomach would thank him dearly for it.

He finally nods to Chris. “I would love to.”

The next instant he is being encompassed by the broader man’s body as Chris releases a hearty “WOO!” and gives him a full body squeeze. Tom’s nearly knocked off his feet and hears rather than sees his cap get knocked off. Chris then leans back so that the two of them are steadied, and Tom returns the hug with his own choppy pat on the back. Usually, he loves giving hugs but being caught so unawares has momentarily left him blindsided. Random mall patrons merely give the pair of them a glance (though he thinks he imagines some teen girls looking at the both of them with disappointment) so busy are they in their holiday shopping.

Finally getting his bearings enough to return the hug properly, Tom chuckles next to Chris’ ear. “Shouldn’t I be the one overwhelming you with physical thanks?” He gets a tighter squeeze for that and instinctively clings closer as he’s not opposed to the contact. Quite the opposite really.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom mulls over things at work.

Tom frowns as he finishes the last Nibbler from the batch he’d decided to get at Mrs. Field’s. Even though Chris had told him the other day that today would be his day off, Tom had maintained some strange hope that the sneaker salesman would show up out of a sense of routine or camaraderie or…something. But as any other level-headed person, Chris had chosen to stay away from his place of employment on his precious day off.

It wasn’t that he needed to confer with his lunch companion about anything. After getting the definite okay from his brother, the two had finally exchanged numbers for any other pressing issues. Since then the two seemed to revert to their early teen years with a barrage of mostly inane texts.

Tom had never been to Australia (and Chris had likewise never visited England), but it seemed there must have been something in the water of their respective schools that allowed them to become friends so easily. They just clicked into a pattern. It was making him look forward to Christmas even more. And should there be a conveniently placed piece of mistletoe…

With an inaudible sigh, he crumples up the small brown paper bag and tosses it at the garbage. A small smile manifests on his face as it makes it in and with a quick stretch, he walks back to the main courtyard where Santa’s village is located.

Despite having bothered to don his puffy jacket so as to not attract the attention of children, he still gets second glances for his vividly protruding striped tights and “little” curled green shoes.

Soon enough, he gets to the festive red picket fence decorated with garlands and ornaments which designates the enclosure to the village as well as the beginning of a line for visitors. Pushing the gate open, he shrugs off his jacket and quickly deposits it into the little house with the “Elf Workshop” sign that the other workers had designated as the unofficial coat room. He also grabs his cap that he had decided to leave behind and jams it on to his head before straightening out the rest of his outfit out of a sense of habit.

“How was your break, Thomas?” asks a soft, lilting voice. It belongs to Rene, their resident “Mrs. Clause” and photographer, who tucks her own light hair underneath the bonnet and wig of her costume.

“As refreshing as could be,” answers Tom with a sigh.

“And how is Chris?” she asks with a slight upturning of her lips.

Tom quickly turns around and pretends to adjust the cushions on the “throne” so Rene won’t witness the apparent flush on his face. Clearing his throat, he answers, “T-today was his day off so obviously he was absent. Preparing himself for the last big shopping rush, you know?”

“Pity,” muses Rene aloud, and he can practically hear the smile that must be unabashedly displayed across her face.

“Yes, well I can only imagine how working in retail this time of year can be, so I only wish him the best in his efforts to regenerate his batteries,” rattles off Tom in reply.

All he hears from Mrs. Clause is a knowing hum before a new voice joins them.

“If only we could be granted the same opportunity, eh. But familiarity is important for the little ones and that is the burden we bear.”

Tom turns to greet the man himself, who is also shucking his coat into the “Elf Workshop.” Anthony self-consciously pats the padding of his suit before climbing up the single stair to stand in front of his designated chair. Pulling his signature hat to fall lower across his forehead and running a few fingers through his beard, the mall Santa settles into the seat.

“Tom,” greets Anthony with a nod of the head.

“Tony,” greets Tom in return just as cordially.

Anthony looks around their little enclosure, and his grey eyebrows draw together as if missing something. “And where is—“

“I’m here! I’m here!” announces Kat as she hops through the fence on one foot while trying to tug on her other pointed shoe. “On time as promised.”

“And where is your hat?” asks Rene as she gestures to the female “elf’s” bare head.

“What’re you talking about? It’s right—“ the younger woman’s eyes widen from behind her glasses as she feels her head to find nothing there. “Ah, shi…” she begins to say until a raised eyebrow from both Rene and Anthony force her to finish with, “…taki mushrooms.”

“Try looking in the workshop,” suggests Tom. “I’m sure you’ll find a leftover cap in there.”

“Oh joy of joys,” grumbles Kat as she shoulders off her peacoat and opens up the little door. She disappears for a few minutes and indeed reemerges with a cap on her head. “Thanks, Tom,” she says as she buttons up her loose green vest (her original one had been an appropriate size until her considerable cleavage had made it “inappropriate”).

“Anytime.”

“How’s Captain Kangaroo?” she asks with a little smirk.

Tom straightens out and strides towards the picket fence where some families had started to make their way towards since noticing they were open again. “On his day off,” he answers matter of factly with no intention of giving anything else away.

“Lucky bastard,” he hears her mutter before she makes her way to the register located near Rene and the exit of their area.

“Game faces everyone!” exclaims Anthony encouragingly, and with that Tom dons his most winning smile (or at least the one he has mastered for this job).

With Christmas just days away, the amount of families clamoring to get their child’s first picture with Santa seems to increase. He ushers in many children—from the painfully shy to the overly excited—to go sit on Santa’s lap and list everything they could possibly ever want before Rene coaxes smiles from them for the picture. Of course there are the expected amount of fussy little ones who are confused as to why they are being given to a bearded stranger all in red, but the amount of screamers is thankfully few.

While waiting on especially long-winded children who came prepared with pages of notebook paper, Tom converses with the children in line. Some of the older ones eye him suspiciously and ask if he’s a rejected elf because of his freakishly tall height.

With a false smile that doesn’t tip off any of their internal sensors (for children are a perceptive bunch), he usually answers, “Santa appreciates me as much as any of the other elves. He did give me this job of deciding who can go see him.”

After that answer, most clam up immediately and straighten up as this will give them extra “nice” points.  The more bold ones point out how they’d get to see Santa regardless of him but would indeed remain quiet for the duration of their wait. One memorable occasion saw him end up with a bruised shin as a rather upset 8-year-old had seen it fit to kick him in response to that answer (Chris had gotten his titters in when Tom had told him what happened, but afterward had almost bent over backward to accommodate Tom that day even going so far as to offer to help him get back to the village).

Most children though just stare up at him in reverence.

The line remains steady for a good hour before finally thinning out. The occasional customer shows up without any regularity until they finally reach the stage in their shift where they simply twiddle their thumbs. With about thirty minutes left, a mother and son show up with the boy clocking in some quality time with Santa (Anthony plays his part wonderfully). Tom has eyes completely focused on the pair of them which is why the insistent poking at his leg catches him by surprise.

He whirls around and looks down to find the culprit is a small blond haired girl who can be no older than four. “You’re a pretty elf,” states the little girl with a wide grin.

“Holly!” calls out a stern voice that is immediately recognizable to Tom’s ears. Looking back up, his breath hitches as Chris strides over with another little blond girl in his arms. Asides from the absence of his uniform (and it seems Chris really favors the casual look with a peacoat that makes it seem as if he’s not wearing a shirt underneath if the patch of skin from beneath the loose scarf tells Tom anything), his usual little bun has been done away with. The man’s dirty blond hair hangs loosely around him as the little girl in his arms gleefully stretches his hair band in her hands.

“Chris?” says Tom in confusion as he takes in the sight before him.

“Hey, Tom,” greets Chris casually with a wave. “Just decided to be the best uncle ever and bring my nieces to come visit old St. Nick.”

Tom nods his head in understanding while the girl on the ground claps her hand excitedly.“Uncle Kip! Uncle Kip! You never said you knew a pretty elf!”

Her sister claps disjointedly and starts chanting, “Elf and Kip! Elf and Kip! Elf and Kip!”

Both men flush at her statement, though Tom’s the first to recover with a curiously raised eyebrow. “Kip?”

“It’s a childhood nickname cause I couldn’t say Christopher properly when I was about Ella’s age here,” he answers. Chris raises the girl in his hands to identify Ella.

Tom can’t contain his smile at the endearing anecdote, and it causes a chain reaction of a smile to light up on Chris’ face as well. Another series of pokes to his legs forces him to turn his attention back to the other little girl, Holly.

“Mr. Pretty Elf, when can we see Santa?”

“Santa! Santa!” chimes in her sibling with growing excitement.

Tom crouches down so as to relieve the child from craning her neck back. With a quick look back at the young boy, who is still counting things off on his hand, he says in a soothing tone that he has also come to perfect since he was first employed here, “Very soon, darling.”

Little Holly smiles giddily at him and clasps her hands behind her back while swaying back and forth so that her little dress fans out beneath her. “Very soon like in ten seconds?”

Tom releases a soft chuckle at this answer. “Something like that, dear.”

“I wanna see him now!” demands Ella.

“What did I tell you about waiting?” says Chris in what Tom thinks is his “uncle” voice as it has a strange lighthearted authority to it.

“It builds carroter!” answers Holly excitedly while Ella just blows a raspberry into Chris’ face.

Tom hides his smile behind a hand while Chris sputters in an over the top fashion. “That’s it, Ella,” says Chris. “Down you go.”

Then Tom is faced with two similar looking blond haired girls who stare at him in awe. When Chris had called his nieces “angels,” Tom had taken it to be a descriptor of their character. Looking at them now, he can definitely agree to how cherubic appearing they are with their rosy cheeks and in-tact baby fat.

“Mr. Pretty Elf,” begins Holly.

“You can call me Tom,” reassures the mall elf to the little girl.

“Mr. Pretty Tom,” amends Holly (“Pity Tom!” exclaims Ella in unison), “is it okay if I tell you one of my Christmas wishes so you can tell Santa in case he forgets?”

“I don’t see why not, Holly. It never hurts.”

Holly looks up to her uncle and then leans in close to Tom. Bringing a hand up to her mouth so as to cup the answer to his ear, she loudly whispers, “I want Uncle Kip to be happy because he’s the bestest uncle ever.”

Tom’s eyebrows rise in unison at the request. “Did your Uncle Kip put you up to this?” he asks as he sends a sly look up to Chris. The look of surprise on Chris’ face is enough answer, but Holly responds anyways.

“Nuh-uh! I came up with it all on my own! I want that more than a koala but not as much as a Barbie scooter.”

“Glad to hear that, Holly,” remarks Chris with a low chuckle.

The telltale sound of the flash goes off, and Tom turns to see the boy blinking his eyes while hopping off of Anthony. The mother and child are soon on their way, leaving Santa free for the girls.

Standing up, Tom gestures to Anthony. “Santa’s all free now,” he informs them.

With matching smiles, Ella latches on to Holly’s hand while Holly grasps Tom’s fingers. “Follow the leader!” squeals Ella.

Taking more pride in his job than usual, Tom leads them over to Anthony and helps to situate them into the older man’s lap. Job done, he goes back to his station where Chris still stands.

“It’s great seeing you in your natural environment,” comments Chris with a smile.

“Ha. Ha,” replies Tom dryly as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You know you’re welcome to move by Mrs. Clause if it helps get a smile out of the girls for their picture.”

“Nah, they’re quite extroverted and naturally happy. They’ll be fine.” He glances at the exit a little nervously. “And uh, I think I’m better off over here anyways. More preferable view and all those other good excuses.”

Tom looks at him questioningly before turning his head to try and see what Chris was looking at. He immediately catches sight of Kat intensely staring at Chris with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She looks like she is about to absolutely devour him right then and there.

Tom’s lips purse together at this unsubtle display from his co-worker and inches closer to Chris. Feeling bold, he pokes his large pocket only to hear something crinkle. “Did you still bring me my daily treat because I’m afraid I gave into the temptations of Mrs. Fields.”

Chris swings his arm in a manner reminiscent of some ‘50s caricature that would say, “Aw shucks.” He buries his hands in pockets again while giving Tom his strange (yet still somehow charming) sideways grin. “Curse that Fields woman and her trademark cookies. It’s a good thing I brought you something slightly different then.” From out of his pocket, he produces something wrapped in wax paper and tied off with a ribbon. He gently takes one of Tom’s hands and places the little package in his palm.

“It’s um, it’s just a brownie, but the girls caught wind that it was a present of sorts and insisted I dress it up more.”

“Oh,” says Tom as his spindly fingers enclose over the little square package. He shoots a quick glance to the girls, who are animatedly chatting away with Anthony, and directs a smile back at Chris. “Well tell them thank you very much from me.”

“I will,” replies Chris who returns the smile. They continue to stand together in a silence that starts to turn awkward until Chris clears his throat. “I’m looking forward to having you over, Tom. Or as Luke likes to remind me, he’s eager to be hosting you.”

“I’m very thankful that you invited me,” says Tom in turn.

“It wasn’t a problem,” says Chris with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

“Doesn’t stop me from appreciating it,” counters Tom.

Chris seems like he’s about to say something when Rene’s voice carries over very clearly.

“All right! Say jingle bells!”

The chiming of Chris’ nieces’ voices are heard right before the sound of the camera going off. The girls promptly thank Santa for his time before scrambling off and clambering around Chris. The trio makes their way to Kat where Chris promptly pays for the photo. Kat’s demeanor remains more professional with him than her eyes had suggested.

Picking up Ella with one arm and taking Holly’s hand within his other one, Chris makes his way back over to Tom. “So I’ll see you then, eh? My hours are all wonky with this last big shopping push, you know?”

Tom nods in understanding. “Mine too. But yes, I will see you then.”

“Just give me a ring when you’re ready, since the bus will take too long.”

More nodding. “Definitely.”

Holly and Ella excitedly wave as they walk away with both girls loudly wishing him a Happy Christmas.

The second they’re out of earshot Kat bombards him. “Deets. Who was that hot piece of Mr. Mom?”

Tom flushes and notices how Rene and Anthony are also listening despite their efforts of looking otherwise occupied by taking off their unnecessary outerwear and donning their winter coats from the workshop.

“If you must know, that was Chris and those are his nieces not his daughters,” answers Tom in a low tone.

Kat’s eyes widen comically, and she pushes at his chest which has the effect of having him stumble back a bit. “Shut up!” she shrieks in an unnaturally high register. “THAT’S Mr. Down Under! If that’s the case, I think I know where I’m vacationing.”

“He is quite handsome,” chimes in Rene as she pulls off her wig and shakes her long hair free. “If only I were a few years younger…” she wistfully muses.

“Strapping young lad,” adds Anthony who is now considerably thinner having cast off his padding. “And those young girls with him were also very charming. Such delightful children to end the day with .”

“Yeah, a real treat,” quickly agrees Kat. “And speaking of treats…” her gaze falls to the brownie still within Tom’s hand.

He protectively draws it closer to him. “It’s a thing we have where he supplies me with baked goods.”

“How sweet,” says Rene with a warm smile as she draws her trenchcoat closed.

“Sweet’s one way of saying it,” mutters Kat as her eyes remain glued on the gift brownie.

The four workers then get to putting equipment into the workshop and arranging other pieces of the village so as to further signify that they are closed.  Anthony and Rene say their farewells before departing for the employee locker rooms located within the heart of the mall where they can change back into their civvies.

Finding themselves alone, Kat quickly asks, “So what’s the deal between the two of you?”

Tom’s eyebrows draw together at the question, and he shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his puffy jacket. “Chris and I, you mean? We’re just friends. Lunchtime acquaintances really.”

Kat hums along with this answer and adjusts her glasses as if to get a better look at him. “So do you two swallow each other’s tongues before or after you eyefuck each other?”

Tom’s eyes blink rapidly of their own accord in response, and he stutters profoundly while failing to form a rebuttal right off the bat.

Kat continues to assess him critically. “So that’s how it is,” she muses more to herself than to him. Suddenly, she unexpectedly slaps him heartily on the arm. “Constant vigilance, my friend,” she advises as she taps her cheek right beneath where the frames of her glasses touch her face.

With another hard knock, she buttons up her peacoat and walks away backwards so as to deliver a final message. “Just don’t get surprised when you get caught under the mistletoe, you know?”

And with that, Tom’s left alone with his brownie which he quickly unravels in order to distract himself. The first bite of thick chocolate deliciousness nearly stops his heart, and he groans in frustration as he chews on it. He curses Kat for having him wonder what it would be like to have Chris’ tongue shoved down his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with the Hemsworths

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” asks Tom’s mother via his laptop for what feels like the hundredth time. They had just spent the last hour chatting to each other via Skype and broached various topics such as his sisters and their impending pregnancies, other family news, his schooling, if he needed any money wired over, his dieting habits, general health and his holiday plans. The most current incarnation regarding his general wellbeing is in regards to this last topic.

With a sigh, Tom replies, “Yes, mum. I am going to be okay.”

“Where did you say you met him again? At work you said? As in one of the fellow elves?”

“Um, not quite. I mean, I did meet him at work, but it’s rather complicated,” answers Tom.

“Thomas,” warns his mother, and it’s amazing how she can still make him feel like a little boy from over thousands of miles away.

“Not complicated in a bad way,” clarifies the young man. “Just that he works at a Footlocker, and we happened to have coinciding lunch breaks where he would sometimes share his delicious lunch with me.”

A content smile breaks over his mother’s face. “How sweet of him. And you say he’s the one who offered to let you spend Christmas with him?”

“Yes,” answers Tom.

“Well he sounds very upstanding. I wish I could meet him.”

Tom nods absently in agreement before glancing to the corner to check the time. As if on cue, his phone buzzes within his pocket, and it contains a text from Chris telling him that he’s downstairs. “Speak of the devil,” starts Tom slowly, “he happens to be here right now.”

“Well don’t keep him waiting on my account,” urges his mother as she makes a shooing gesture at the screen.

“Love you, mum. Send my love to Sara and Emma as well and Happy Christmas,” says Tom in farewell.

“I will and Happy Christmas to you as well. And don’t forget to ring your father,” she reminds him gently.

“Already have,” he shoots back, having used his calling card for a brief exchange with his father.

“Okay then. Good bye, dear!”

“Bye, mum,” says Tom one last time before they both seem to cut the connection. He powers off his laptop and gathers up his items for the gathering: a bottle of unopened brandy from Ken (he had been quite adamant about Tom taking it, citing that hosts instantly warmed to guests with excellent taste in alcohol), presents for the girls, a plate of cookies to add to the food table and a sentimental little gift for Chris. He stuffs what he can in his canvas bag, zips himself into his coat and trudges out the door looking akin to some sort of balancing act.

Managing to lock the door, he makes his way to the lobby (thankfully, their apartment was on the ground level), and before he opens up the glass doors with either his hip or foot, it opens from the other side.

“Lemme get that for you,” offers Chris as he props his foot in front of the door and goes to relieve Tom of the cookie platter.

Tom hands it off with zero fuss, and they make their way to Chris’ little clunker, a powder blue Nissan Stanza. Settling into the front seat after placing his bag in the back seat, Tom rubs his hands together due to the chill in the air which prompts Chris to fiddle with his heating in an attempt to keep them from freezing. The air is slow to kick in, but when it does, a blast of warm air encompasses Tom, prompting him to fiddle with the vent so he’s not overwhelmed.

“Sorry about that,” apologizes Chris as he brings the dial to a lower number.

“No, it’s fine,” insists Tom while actually being thankful that he’s not being assaulted by the musty air anymore. Adjusting himself in the car seat to get accustomed to what will be a considerably lengthy ride (it’s amazing that they live equal distances from the mall and yet in completely opposite directions). “So how was the service?” he finally asks politely.

“Boring as always,” answers Chris immediately. “I was probably itching more than the girls to get out of there.”

Tom stifles a laugh at this response and instead replies, “Then why keep going?”

The thick jacket surrounding those large shoulders rises and falls quickly as Chris shrugs from behind the wheel. “Tradition I guess? We’re not all that religious if that’s what you’re afraid of. Just going through the motions and all that, though the children’s choir was very nice to listen to. God knows I could never sing like that even before puberty.”

Tom smiles as an image enters his head. “Hmmm. I can just see a miniature version of you throwing a fit in your little robe and making quite the scene in the house of the Lord.”

“Probably can’t beat the actual image of an angry mall elf putting you in your place,” counters Chris with a little smirk. “I honestly thought you were going to knock my lights out or something.”

Tom toys with his zipper with his head bowed so the other man can’t see the flush that has crept into his cheeks. “Have you seen yourself? Even if I had been properly ticked off then, it would have been as effective as hitting a zebra striped brick wall.”

Chris actually guffaws at that for a split second and takes a hand off the wheel to push Tom lightly. “Have you seen yourself when you’re in a fury? Not such a holly jolly sight despite your funny little outfit.”

Now it’s Tom’s turn to playfully smack Chris back but just a smidge harder than what was done to him.

“No assaulting the driver!” cries out the younger man in faux distress as he exaggeratedly hunches over the wheel in a show of protecting it.

“Well that’s what happens when you make a mockery of my uniform,” replies Tom with an affected sniff and an upturning of his nose.

“Come off it. It was an eyesore, and you know it.”

“You’re one to talk,” scoffs Tom as he squints and purses his lips at Chris.

“Yeah,” replies Chris sarcastically as he keeps his eyes on the road. “Because a look-a-like referee’s shirt is so much worse than those sculpted tights that turned your legs into candy canes.”

 “Further accentuated by a pine green vest and shorts combination,” continues Tom.

“And topped off with an adorable little jingle cap,” finishes Chris in a higher pitched voice as he pats his head and mimes the conical shape of the hat.

Tom smiles at his pantomime before stretching his head towards the back seat where his bag is. “They let me keep it though I can’t imagine what for.” He hums to himself and drums his long fingers against his suit pants (they’re a step down from his Sunday best, but he would have felt bad showing up in jeans despite Chris’ insistence that it was a laid back luncheon). “Perhaps my future partner will want to roleplay as a naughty elf,” he says with an impish grin.

Rather than react as expected with a laugh or a shove or something in that vein, Chris’ lips press firmly together, and his eyes seem to focus more on the suburban view from beyond the window shield.

“Here we are,” announces Chris suddenly as the car pulls into a driveway alongside a dull gray minivan with an inset sticker of a stick figure family on the rear window that is on Chris’ side. Peering through the windows, Tom finds they are parked in front of an unassuming one-storey house painted white with sky blue trim. In the spirit of Christmas, white icicle lights dangle from the roof and wrap around the posts of the porch. A potted poinsettia sits perched on the railing of the perch, and a wreath with bauble ornaments woven into it hangs on the wooden door.  The small front yard has well maintained grass, and a light-up Frosty is the only occupant on the lawn.

Staring at it and the faux frosted front window, it suddenly hits Tom that he’s about to meet Chris’ family. Granted, he’s already met half of the family that will actually be gathered, and Chris is a friend so this really shouldn’t be as big a problem as he’s making it but still…He’s meeting Chris’ family.

And suddenly a slew of insecurities slam into him, ranging from the hand-me-down jacket he’s wearing to the cookies he had chosen to bring (especially in lieu of the fact that Samantha is a master chef) to the presents he had picked out. His hands clench on top of his knees, and he inhales slowly through his nostrils in an attempt to calm down.

A knock on his window startles him out of his reverie with a severe flinch, and he gasps in surprise. Turning towards the noise, he finds Chris leaning down with his canvas bag dangling from those broad shoulders. The shoe salesman is smiling softly at him through the glass and mimes a rolling motion with one hand which prompts Tom to roll down his window so as to hear whatever message is about to be relayed to him.

“So are you coming in or have you decided to just camp out here for the night?”

Tom’s hand shoots out for the door handle as apologies stream out of his mouth. He’s trying to roll his window back up as his legs stretch outside of the car. That’s when he notices Chris taking both the platter of cookies and the bag to the door.

“Let me get one of those for you,” offers Tom as he reaches out for his bag.

Chris doesn’t give it up that easily though and edges forward onto the little cement porch. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t give you a hand?”

“What kind of guest would I be by foisting all my things upon you?” insists Tom as he reaches out again but this time for the cookie platter.

Chris finally relents before angling his key into the lock and opening up the door. Stepping through it, he proclaims, “We’re here!” to whoever might be around to hear.

Comfortable warmth greets Tom this time as he immediately steps into a wide living room, soon followed by delectable smells wandering from the kitchen. A long beige couch helps set the barrier to the picturesque Christmas setup before them. Along the walls are makeshift snowflakes and snowmen of varying design. Of note are the snowwomen with only their eyelashes to differentiate them. A decorated tree stands tall in the corner with a star situated at the top with fiber-optic threads exploding from its points so as to give off a miniature light show. Though the tree is nicely decorated with the standard mix of normal and uniquely sentimental ornaments, he notes how the bottom of the tree differs from the top with an overload of candy canes, tinsel, and less fragile ornaments. Vibrantly wrapped packages lie beneath some of the drooping ornaments, waiting to be torn to shreds.

A single stair designates the divide between living and dining room. He can spy various foods already laid out on the table as well and also briefly takes note of the short hallway which leads to the bedrooms.

He takes all of this in right before two familiar little girls race out of the previously noted rooms to greet Chris. Both are dressed in holiday themed sweaters and simple black pants, presumably what they wore to church. Holly sports a crimson red sweater with stripes of snowflakes running across it. Ella is dressed in a forest green sweater with a single mistletoe plant promptly displayed on the front with the white berries providing a nice contrast.

“Uncle Kip! Uncle Kip!” exclaims Holly as Ella just squeals, “Kip! Kip!”

At the sight of Tom though, Holly stops short with gaping mouth and widening eyes while Ella smiles at him while continuing to race up to Chris with raised arms. He obligingly picks the younger girl up, and she waves enthusiastically at Tom until Tom returns it with a wave of his own and an assuring smile.

“Mr. Pretty Tom!” says Holly with complete awe. She places both hands on her small hips and cranes her head back while tilting it to the side. “Why are you here?”

“Didn’t I tell you that I was friends with one of Santa’s helpers?” answers Chris as he looks fondly down at Holly. Just before Tom looks back down to Holly in order to nod his head in agreement, he catches how that fond look remains on Chris’ face as the younger man briefly glances back up at Tom.

“Yes, your uncle discovered my weakness for sweets and has used it to his advantage ever since.”

“Is that why my house has smelled so wonderful nearly every day?” asks a new voice as a woman emerges from the kitchen with a welcoming smile. She has platinum blond hair which is swept into a simply ponytail, only comes up to about Chris’ shoulder and is wearing a navy blue sweatshirt which has a Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer flying through a sea of ornament-shaped stars. “I must thank you for that then as it’s quite the treat to be awakened by Chris’ special Christmas cookies.”

“Yeah, firing up our oven at odd hours of the day for someone at work,” chimes in another voice, this one belonging to a man who bears a resemblance to Chris when the two of them are near each other but also only barely gets past Chris’ shoulder. His short, sandy blond hair is brushed back, and his white sweatshirt has a 3D version of Santa’s face with beaded eyes, a felt hat and thick, white beard.

The man sticks a hand out for Tom to grasp in a sturdy handshake. “It’s great to finally put a face to the stomach,” greets the man jokingly. “I’m Luke…”

“And I’m Samantha,” continues Chris’ sister-in-law, “and it’s a pleasure to have you in our home.” She wraps both of her smaller hands around Tom’s larger one when they shake, and it reflects the comfort conveyed in her tone.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” responds Tom. “I really can’t thank you enough for letting me you’re your home.” Remembering the cookies, he holds them out to the couple. “And these are for the…uh…spread.”

Samantha takes them and walks them over to the table, accompanied by Holly who tries to see what kind they are by jumping every step of the way.

“Surveying the gathered Hemsworth clan who all smile so warmly at him, Tom feels the little knot in his gut begin to untangle. The sight of the ugly Christmas sweaters has a hand in that, but their receptive air is what’s mostly doing the trick. Then he does a double take as he realizes that Chris is also one of the ugly sweater clan with his black sweater sporting symmetrically dancing snowmen in the falling snow.

“I feel a little overdressed,” Tom confesses as he pulls the zipper down his coat to reveal his asparagus green long-sleeved shirt underneath a simple black waistcoat. Shucking his coat on to a nearby coat rack, he barely rubs his arms out of habit before Luke is racing down the hallway.

“I’ve got just the thing!” yells Chris’ older brother as he opens up a door and pulls something off of a shelf. Striding back, he holds the material from shoulder to shoulder to reveal a royal blue sweatshirt with a Punnett square full of bells and a big red bow printed in the center of the intersection of those four squares.

“Luke,” hisses Chris not so subtly.

Samantha merely pats Luke’s shoulder. “It’s really up to you, Tom. This just happens to be a side hobby of Luke’s which gets ramped up times eleven around this particular holiday.”

“And it was easy going until all these teens suddenly got hip to it. Now I’ve got to beat off a bunch of underfed looking college students in order to get a sweater portraying Santa and the elves at the table like it was the Last Super.”

Chris rolls his eyes at the description while jiggling Ella in his arm. “And we’re all the poorer for it,” he jokes.

Tom feels the smile spreading across his face the more and more he eyes up the sweater. The token is indeed appreciated, and his arm reaches out to accept it. “I’d be more than glad. Thank you very much.”

Tugging it over his head and pulling it so that it falls past his waist, he marvels at how it fits well. Not overly baggy at all.

“Now you fit right in,” comments Luke with a clap to Tom’s arm.

“I’ve got more things,” says Tom as he bends down for the bag that Chris had left on the floor. Stuffing the presents under one arm, he presents the bottle to Samantha whose eyes widen in shock as she reads the label.

He waves his bottle in the air at his wife. “Guess what we’re having tonight, Sam,” he remarks jokingly.

“You wish,” she jokes right back as she hugs the bottle to her chest. Noticing the presents Tom carries, she leads him by the shoulder and gestures to the tree. “You can lay those underneath there, and now that we’re all here, we can sit down to eat.”

A rumble of consent rises between the two brothers, and after a pretty heartfelt—yet short—speech about those who are near to us from Luke, the patron of the family urges them to get their grub on and dig in.

Tom doesn’t need a second invitation from there and loads up his plate from the assorted dishes on the table. True to Chris’ word, the turkey is quite scrumptious though he keeps going back for the heavenly four cheese pasta and addictive deviled eggs.

 Despite their parents’ lighthearted warning, the girls load up on the red and green M&M cookies Tom brought along. They tear through their lunch with an alarming speed and nearly vibrate in place after disposing of their paper plates. They never voice their ardent desire though it is evident in their frenetic body language and shifty eyes that switch from their parents’ plates to the tree. Sam finally gives her consent with a nod of her head as she swallows the last bit of turkey on her plate, and the girls skip to the tree, poking and prodding all the gifts (Holly sets to separating the packages as she can make out the writing on the labels whereas Ella contents herself with a candy cane).

Tom sits down on the couch as Sam and Luke situate themselves on the loveseat. Chris, meanwhile, helps the girls in sorting out the presents. A small argument arises between the two over who gets to present their parent’s gifts to them, but it is quickly resolved by having the two of them do it together. Squeals of pleasure arise from the girls after each opened one, followed by a chorus of thanks. (He’s relieved to find Holly fiercely hugging the stuffed koala he had gotten her and Ella waving about the dancing ribbon.) The loudest squeal comes from the Barbie scooter and two pairs of helmets. Both girls insist on trying it out in the backyard, and with an obliging sigh, the four Hemsworths are on the move. The whole thing brings about a wave of nostalgia for Tom as he remembers the Christmases of what seemed to be not so long ago with his sisters.

He’s brought out of his reverie when Chris plops down into the seat right next to him. He has Tom’s package and a festive bag in one hand and a rectangular gift in the other one. He offers the rectangular one to Tom. “Happy Christmas, mate,” he says with his sideways smile.

Tom takes it with befuddled blinking and rather carefully tears away at the wrapping paper to reveal a white cardboard box. Lifting the lid and the tissue paper within, he gasps at what lies inside: a black leather jacket.

His stomach drops as he thinks of what he got in comparison. Sure enough, Chris is laughing after unwrapping his gift of both _Elf_ and _A Christmas Story_ in their own respective (and convenient) DVD + Blu Ray combo packs. “I know what we’re watching next. Thanks a lot, Tom,” he says while slinging an arm over Tom’s shoulder.

Tom is still staring at his gift in dumbstruck awe when the warm squeeze penetrating the layers of his sweatshirt and other layers stir a response from him. “I-I can’t accept this, Chris,” he says in a hushed tone.

“Why not?” asks the other man with what might be a hint of insecurity in his own tone.

“I can’t imagine what this cost…” his voice trails off as he rubs his fingers against the material and slowly pulls it out of the box.

“Don’t worry about that,” insists Chris. “Overpriced sneakers do fetch quite the paycheck, and I wanted to get this for you.”

Both of Tom’s hands clutch the jacket now, but he still feels as if he must protest. “Well I feel like a proper arse now, having gotten you what feels like a gag gift in comparison.”

The arm around his shoulder slips off as Chris turns to face him. “I have no doubt that your gift came from the same exact place as mine,” counters Chris in a soft tone.

“And where would that be?” asks Tom in an equally soft tone though he already knows the answer.

He watches as Chris’ pink tongue darts out to momentarily wet his lips before the other man answers, “The heart.”

Without any further ado,Tom surges forward and presses his lips to Chris’. A sound of surprise nearly has him pulling away but then the thick arms wrapping around his own body urge him on. What begins as spontaneous chasteness deepens due to the tongue probing at his lips. Opening them up, his own tongue is rolling against the new entrant, and a moan rumbles through him as his hand pulls the band from Chris’ hair in order to tangle his fingers in those blond locks with his other hand palming down Chris’ muscular side.

His neck fitting against the armrest alerts him to the fact that he’s been pushed down on the couch, but he doesn’t bother to pull apart yet. Instead, he encourages further action by angling the rest of his body onto the furniture, toeing off a shoe and stroking his foot down the other man’s legs.  In response, Chris’ hips grind down, and Tom swipes a tongue across the man’s lower lip before lightly biting it.

A forced cough has them suddenly pulling apart, though limbs are still pretty much entangled around each other. Craning his head further back, Tom finally see an upside down Sam stands before them with crossed arms and a raised brow.

“I suggest you move this elsewhere before Luke rings up your mum on Skype to introduce her to your boyfriend,” comments the woman airily.

After a sheepish apology from Tom and a muttered one from Chris, the latter nearly hauls the former off the couch in order to oblige said suggestion. Tom then gets a brief tour of the house as they zip through the kitchen to get to the backyard.

Luke steers the scooter with both girls crammed on it, and they all look up at the newcomers, who are in a hurry to get to the little guest house that Chris presumably inhabits.

“Look at me! Look at me!” demands Ella as she jumps in place.

“What did Santa get you, Uncle Kip?” asks Holly.

“Someone who makes me extremely happy,” answers Chris jubilantly as he ushers Tom into his own living space.

Any worries about their eagerness being dampened are immediately doused as the two basically jump each other once the door clicks shut.

 Later on, panting and cuddling on Chris’ twin mattress (he feels like he’s in public school again, being so undone by—a thoroughly intense in his defense—second base) with his hands carding through Chris’ hair and Chris nuzzling into his neck, Tom floats a faux concern. “You do know at some point we’ll have to break it to the girls that I’m not actually an elf.”

The arms around his waist drag up a little as Chris merely shrugs in reply and presses a kiss to Tom’s neck. Then another kiss to Tom’s jaw, another one to his cheek and the trail ends with another slow exchange on the lips.

When they part, Tom catches a twinkle in Chris’ eye as his arms tighten their hold. “What’re you doing on Boxing Day?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never? Thanks for reading and happy new year!


End file.
